


You’re Always Worth It

by deadcliche



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Escorts, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Bottom Miya Atsumu, Consensual, Escort Miya Atsumu, Escort Service, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Facial, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pro Volleyball Player Sakusa Kiyoomi, Prostitute Miya Atsumu, Prostitution, Rich Boy Sakusa Kiyoomi, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Top Sakusa Kiyoomi, light degradation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:22:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcliche/pseuds/deadcliche
Summary: Atsumu’s lips twitch into a self satisfied smirk. “Oh, yer ambitious, aren’t ya? How d’ya want me, Sakusa-san?”“Ruined,” Sakusa admits, voice low. “But I’ll get to that.”
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 86
Kudos: 623
Collections: stories that touched me





	You’re Always Worth It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuasarScorpion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuasarScorpion/gifts).



> Or the prostitution fic that I promised [Jules](https://twitter.com/quasarscorpion?s=21) months ago that I’m finally delivering on.

He’s sitting at the hotel bar, blond hair gleaning under the crystal chandeliers–Sakusa knows they’re expensive, but they just feel gaudy to him–sipping a glass of what Sakusa is certain is incredibly overpriced champagne, charged to his room. He wants to be annoyed by that, because it’s so deeply predictable, but he supposes he can’t fault the man for tacking on another 10,000 yen; it’s trivial compared to the budget the agency had provided him with, and Sakusa is certain that by the end of the night, he’ll have spent even more than he intended. He checks his wristwatch; there’s still ten minutes before their preset meeting time, because he’s always early. He'd honestly expected to arrive before the other man. Sakusa takes deep breaths, lingering at the bar entrance and watches the blond for a few moments, noting the way he keeps shifting in his barstool, almost as if he’s as nervous as Sakusa is. And maybe he is, despite being a professional. Sakusa can’t imagine experience ever fully squashing the inevitable anxieties of working in this business. Maintaining a certain level of nerves actually seems like the responsible option, given the inherent vulnerability of his role. 

Sakusa wishes he could see more of the man from this angle, observe his face without giving up his own, but the blond’s gaze doesn’t leave the bar. He takes note of his broad shoulders, the deep burgundy button down tucked into slacks–no jacket in sight–with sleeves folded to showcase sinued and bronzed forearms. Even from the blond’s perch on the bar stool, Sakusa can tell this man’s form is tantalizing, and it spurs him forward from the entry into the bar itself. He takes a final breath, stealing his nerves because yes, he’s going to go through with this, he’s already hired the man, and if he doesn’t show he’ll be charged a hefty fee without getting anything from the experience, and approaches the bar. 

“Miya-san.” Sakusa is proud of how level his voice is. He was only given a surname, a name he’s certain doesn’t actually belong to the blond, but he responds to it just the same. 

He acknowledges Sakusa with a wide and cocky grin. He’s roguishly handsome, that much is sure. “Jus’ Atsumu’s fine,” the Kansai-ben dialect is heavy on his tongue. “And what can I call ya, handsome?” 

And Sakusa had agonized over this question because really, using his name in a time like this seems reckless, but he can’t imagine the experience will be anywhere near as fulfilling if this man is gasping out a stranger’s name. Sure, he has a certain amount of notoriety as an athlete, but it’s not exactly an uncommon name. Anyone who would recognize him by his surname alone would have to know his face as well. “Sakusa-san.” He slides into the barstool adjacent to the man. To Atsumu. 

“Sakusa-san,” Atsumu says slowly, as if he’s savoring every syllable, getting the taste of it on his tongue. Sakusa fights a shiver. “Ya know, it’s a bit of a mouthful. Hope somethin’ else is a mouthful.” And if the innuendo wasn’t already clear enough, Atsumu’s eyes drop to Sakusa’s lap; Sakusa can’t help the slight flush in his cheeks, and he hopes his mask hides the blush. Now that Atsumu has mentioned it, all Sakusa can think about is how those full lips would look stretched not into the confident grin he’s currently sporting, but around his cock instead. 

“Fancy a drink, Sakusa-san?” The irony of this man, who’s time is billed, offering him a drink he’ll be paying for, charged to a luxury hotel room he procured, is not lost on Sakusa. And if the expression on Atsumu’s face is anything to go by, it’s not lost on him either. Sakusa just nods, and Atsumu flags down the bartender. Sakusa orders: gin martini, dry, stirred, served up with a twist–yuzu if they have it. Atsumu orders another glass of that stupidly expensive champagne, a self-satisfied look on his face, almost as if he’s daring Sakusa to comment on his lavish choices. Sakusa doesn’t. He unhooks his mask, carefully folding it and tucking it into his jacket pocket.

“No clue how ya can drink that stuff,” Atsumu grimaces as Sakusa takes his first sip of his cocktail. “Gin tastes like hospital grade disinfectant.”

“I am fond of disinfectant,” Sakusa says offhandedly and then freezes because could he have said a worse thing to an escort? This man is probably convinced he’s going to murder him. He just professed a love for disinfectant like a damn serial killer. He would not be surprised if Atsumu made a hasty excuse and fled the premises.

Either Atsumu can sense Sakusa’s panic or he really has no sense of self-preservation, because he just chuckles, sipping his own drink. Atsumu gives him an appraising look. “Yer definitely the hottest client I’ve ever had, Sakusa-san.”

Sakusa raises a brow, taking another small sip of his martini. “I’m sure you say that to all of us.” 

Atsumu shrugs, “Nah. I flatter ‘em, obviously, but I’d never tell ‘em they’re the hottest. Not unless they asked specifically and I couldn’t get ‘round givin’ an answer. I flatter, but I’m not too keen on blatant lies. But ya. I mean, look at ya.” 

And Sakusa knows that this is Atsumu’s job. He’s a professional at telling people exactly what they want to hear. Making them feel special and wanted and ready to open their wallets just to keep the attention coming. He knows all this, but he can’t help the slight twitch of the corners of his mouth at the compliment. “I think you’re a flirt, Atsumu.” 

“Course I am. Don’t mean I’m not telling the truth. Certainly helps that yer much younger than most. Lottsa older businessmen, ya know?” 

Sakusa doesn’t, but he nods in agreement either way, humming softly around his drink. 

“In fact,” Atsumu continues, leaning towards Sakusa in a way that should make him bristle away, but doesn’t. He supposes that’s why this man is so successful; it’s impossible not to feel comfortable around him, even for someone like Sakusa. “What is it that ya do? Must be pretty successful to meet my rates.” 

“Maybe I’m just incredibly irresponsible with my personal finances.” 

Atsumu laughs at that and it’s an all encompassing thing; his chest shakes, he throws his head back, and it’s so warm and open. The openness is deeply alluring and in stark contrast with Sakusa’s own disposition. “Nah. Look at ya. That watch. The bespoke suit. Betcha have fancy fuckin’ cufflinks hidin’ under that jacket. No way yer just drownin’ in debt. So what’s it ya do?”

Sakusa shrugs, not wanting to talk about his volleyball career with this man. “I’m a trust fund brat. What I do doesn’t matter at all.” And it’s still technically the truth. He finishes his drink, noting that Atsumu’s flute is also empty. He drums his fingers against his thigh, trying to work himself up to asking Atsumu upstairs with him. It’s why they’re here, after all. He’s already hired him. Met him at the bar. This is the final step but the words feel caught in his chest. 

And maybe Atsumu senses his anxieties, or maybe he’s just eager to seal the deal, because he speaks the words that Sakusa is choking on. “Whatcha think ‘bout takin’ this upstairs?” 

***

Atsumu walks into the hotel room with confidence and comfort; Sakusa supposes that makes sense, upscale hotel rooms are almost like his office. Sakusa feels nearly as comfortable on a volleyball court as he does in his own apartment, maybe it’s similar for Atsumu and hotel rooms. The most important thing to Sakusa is that the room is clean; he’d inspected it thoroughly upon check-in, and already requested spare linens from room service. This entire situation, hiring someone for sex, was already triggering his anxieties but his desire for the man before him, for someone willing to let him do nearly anything for the right price, just edges out his sensibilities. Still, a clean room is a necessity. 

Atsumu gives him another one of those once overs, the look that is unabashedly lustful, the look that has Sakusa ready to empty the hotel safe he’d already stuffed with far more money than necessary. “Ya know, yer so pretty, if my rent wasn’t due next week, I could be convinced to give it to ya for free.” 

“Hmm,” Sakusa looks at Atsumu and he knows there’s hunger in his gaze. “I wonder, what gave you the impression you’ll be giving me anything?”

Atsumu’s response is subtle, just a quick widening of his eyes and bob of his Adam’s apple that could have easily been missed if Sakusa weren’t so preoccupied with cataloguing every single one of his responses. He’s just… impossible to look away from. Atsumu shakes his surprise off with a slight roll of his shoulders, clearing his throat before speaking. “So my rates.” Atsumu walks over to the desk, pulling a small card and a fountain pen from his pocket. He leans over the desk, catching his lower lip between his teeth and gnawing slightly as he writes. He glances up at Sakusa, giving him an absentminded nod, before returning to his note. 

The silence unsettles Sakusa, but it’s not like idle conversation is a skill of his in general, so he doesn’t know how to break it. Atsumu had been driving their interactions; his blatant flirtation and quips kept Sakusa on his toes, which distracted him from the reality of their situation, allowing him to relax. Without them, Sakusa is shifting his weight back and forth, compulsively rolling his wrists out and trying not to just bolt from the room. He had been so confident moments prior, but that was quickly fading, the doubt he felt at the bar entrance resettling. 

Atsumu approaches him, handing out the card; it’s all very theatrical, and Sakusa wonders if this is somehow standard for the industry, or the agency, or just something Atsumu does–he certainly seems the type to have a penchant for dramatics. “So the baseline is on there, with some common add-ons and their pricing. But that’s not all ya can do. Most things are on the table, for the right price, of course. No edgeplay, no blood, and I’m not in the habit of kissin’, but I’d probably let ya.” 

Sakusa wrinkles his nose. “I’m not going to kiss you.” 

Atsumu just chuckles lightly, shaking his head. 

Sakusa inspects the card and he knew what the budget would be like, but fuck is this a lot of money. It’s a little surreal, and his mouth dries, pupils growing with each zero he reads. He makes a choked little noise. 

“Thought ya knew what to expect.” Atsumu is frowning, and he probably expects Sakusa to start arguing about the price point or to back out. 

“I did. It’s just…” Sakusa struggles to find the words for this feeling. He was raised with money; he understands how anything is possible, for the right price. Watched his father slick hands to change minds, open doors… sometimes Sakusa thought he did it just because he could. Sakusa is intimately familiar with what money can buy, but it’s never felt more visceral than this moment. He gives up trying to put words to the feeling, deciding instead to walk over to the large closet, sliding the door open and reaching in to open the hotel safe. Actions speak louder than words anyway. Sakusa punches the code in and pulls the door open, looking over his shoulder at Atsumu. “I’ll get the money counted and set everything up in here. Can you go shower?” 

Atsumu frowns again, but only for a moment before he’s nodding. “Sure, Sakusa-san.” He turns away from the closet, walking across the hotel room towards the bathroom. 

“And put your clothes back on when you’re done,” Sakusa calls out. Atsumu doesn’t say anything, but Sakusa is confident that he’ll abide by his requests; that is his job, after all, and showering and putting his clothes back on certainly doesn’t violate the boundaries Atsumu had established. It also gives him time to settle his nerves, taking deep breaths as he pulls several bundles of cash from the safe. The sound of the shower running is muffled by the bathroom door. He counts through the money slowly, the repetition soothing his overactive mind, setting aside a surplus of what’s on Atsumu’s card and pocketing some more–he knows it’s inevitable that he’ll spend it. Atsumu makes him want to spend it. 

He’s doing this. He drops the stack of bills on the desk and proceeds to sanitize his hands. Sakusa goes to his overnight bag, gathering his supplies for the evening. He pulls on a pair of nitrile gloves, pocketing another couple pairs. He puts the lube on the bedside table, along with a few condoms, adding another couple to his pocket. The extra towels he requested from room service are placed on the corner of the bed and then he’s ready, waiting for Atsumu to return. He sits down in the desk chair, drumming his fingers against the table, breathing methodically for several minutes. 

Sakusa tenses when he hears the water switch off; it won’t be long now. Atsumu exits the bathroom, skin flushed slightly from the warm water, hair damp, and Sakusa stands. When Atsumu has returned to his side of the room, Sakusa gestures towards the money on the desk. “Why don’t we start with this, hmm? Should be enough for us to get started, right?” 

Atsumu’s lips twitch into a self satisfied smirk. “Oh, yer ambitious, aren’t ya? How d’ya want me, Sakusa-san?”

“Ruined,” Sakusa admits, voice low. “But I’ll get to that.” 

Atsumu shudders, and Sakusa can’t help but grin underneath his mask. He loves that he’s so affected. That Sakusa is having this much of an effect on a man who does this professionally, who’s probably heard it all before. He may be a good actor, but Sakusa can tell that reaction was authentic. The sense of accomplishment slinks down his spine, settling into his gut, pooling with arousal. “For now, let’s get you out of that shirt. I want to look at you.” 

Atsumu reaches towards his buttons, but Sakusa grips his wrists. It’s the first time he’s touched the other man, and his fingers tingle with the contact, even through his gloves. “Thought ya wanted me out of the shirt?” 

“I do. But I want to do it.” Sakusa drops his wrists, reaching towards the buttons, slowly undoing them, relishing in every centimeter of muscled and tanned chest as it’s exposed. He pauses halfway to trace a finger from his collarbone to his sternum. Atsumu’s exhales shakily, eyes fluttering shut, goosebumps spreading across his skin. Sakusa returns to the buttons, fingers working hastily. He shoves the shirt off broad shoulders, and the sound of the fabric rustling as it falls to the floor is intoxicating. Though not as intoxicating as the sight before him. 

Sakusa takes a step back, inspecting Atsumu, taking in the spread of exposed skin. The rest of his upper body is a golden tan, though not as dark as his forearms, corded muscles lying underneath, veins running up, leading to beautiful biceps. Rounded pecs, chiseled abs, cut hip bones, a sparse trail of dark hair leading into the waistband of his slacks… Sakusa feasts on the sight of him. It’s the musculature of an athlete, a body built for a purpose. Sakusa would know, he’s surrounded by builds like this every day, but none of his teammates or opponents have ever made him so hungry. 

Atsumu’s eyes open, meeting Sakusa’s stare, and he just smirks, so fucking confident. “Like what ya see, Sakusa-san.” It’s not a question. 

Sakusa does. And he likes the way his name sounds on Atsumu’s tongue. Likes the self-assured way Atsumu looks at him. Speaks to him. He wants to watch that cockiness crumble. “You’re lucky that I do, Atsumu. I’d be disappointed if I didn’t feel I was getting my… money’s worth.” 

“I’ve never had clients complain. They’ve always been satisfied.” 

The mention of his other clients, other people who’ve touched the man before him, makes Sakusa bristle slightly. He shakes it off, stepping back towards Atsumu, returning his hands to his chest, reveling in the way Atsumu shudders slightly under his touch. Atsumu’s skin is warm and firm under his glove wrapped fingers and with each stroke, Sakusa longs for more contact. He traces a nipple with his fingertips, watching harden, listening to Atsumu’s shaky breath. His other hand moves upward, pausing to trace the curve of his collarbone, before settling in his hair. Even through his gloves it seems soft, softer than Sakusa had expected, for bottle-blond. He rolls the nipple between his fingers and tugs on the hair slightly, angling Atsumu’s neck so that he can lean over and whisper in his ear. “How far are you going to go to satisfy me, Atsumu?” 

Atsumu’s exhale hitches slightly, the most subtle of moans, but Sakusa drinks in the sound. Sakusa removes his hands from Atsumu, already missing the warmth, and slides his jacket off, draping it over the desk chair. “Get on the bed,” he instructs while undoing his tie. 

Atsumu sits down on the foot of the bed, legs wide, feet planted on the floor, leaning back slightly on his hands, eyes wide as he watches Sakusa approach, his dark slacks and tan skin in contrast with the crisp white linens. Sakusa knows they’re white because white linens are easier to keep clean. Bleach hides a multitude of sins. Sins he’ll be committing on that bedspread. 

Sakusa runs his hands over the tie, standing between Atsumu’s spread legs. He thinks back to the card, the sexual acts and corresponding prices it details, and to the pile of cash sitting on the desk. “Now what if I wanted to tie your wrists, Atsumu? I reckon that would cost a little more, wouldn’t it?” He pulls a few more bills from his pocket. “This enough?” 

Atsumu inspects the cash in Sakusa’s hand, and apparently deems it satisfactory, because he holds his wrists out to Sakusa. Sakusa turns back to the desk, taking quick strides to add the cash to the pile, before returning to Atsumu, pleased to see that his wrists are still out. “Shoulda guessed ya’d like me like this. Ya have that sorta vibe ‘bout ya.” 

“And what exactly would that vibe be?” Sakusa pulls a pair of gloves from his pocket, handing them to the other man. Atsumu cocks an eyebrow questioningly, but doesn’t comment, pulling them on with a snap. Sakusa then wraps his tie around Atsumu’s wrists, looping it several times before finishing with a knot. “Too tight?” 

Atsumu wiggles his wrists, pulling at the binding slightly. “Nah, it’s fine. And I dunno how to describe it. Just not surprised ya want me like this. Tied up and waitin’ for ya to touch me. Ya gonna make me wait long, Sakusa?” 

“Sakusa-san,” he corrects. 

“I want ya to touch me, Sakusa-san.” 

Sakusa’s hands fall to his belt, hastily undoing it. The button and zippers of his slacks follow. “I’m not touching you anytime soon, Atsumu. You’ll just have to be patient.” He’s half hard already, and reaches out to yank Atsumu to his feet by his bound wrists. Atsumu stumbles slightly before gaining his bearings. Sakusa takes Atsumu’s recently vacant spot on the bed, sliding his half hard cock from his boxer briefs. He pulls a condom from his pocket, quickly tearing through the wrapper and rolling it over his length; it’s a little awkward, since he’s not fully hard, but he’s definitely not putting his dick in Atsumu’s mouth unprotected, regardless of how frequently the agency promised that their escorts are tested. He gestures nonchalantly toward it with a hand. “Now I know I’ve already paid for this.” 

“I knew ya wanted me to take a mouthful,” Atsumu smirks as he drops to his knees. 

Sakusa spreads his thighs, allowing Atsumu to walk on his knees between them. He uses his bound hands to grip the base of Sakusa’s dick, warm even through the gloves, leaning forward and swallowing it without pause. He’s not fully hard yet, so Atsumu can take him easily, but Sakusa is stiffening quickly in the wet warmth of Atsumu’s mouth. Even through latex, the feeling is sinful.

“Prove it to me that your mouth is worth its price tag.” 

Atsumu moans around his cock, easing back as Sakusa hardens fully. He focuses his ministrations on the tip, tonguing over the slit and sucking on the head until Sakusa is leaking precome into the condom. Atsumu cups his balls clumsily, bound wrists affecting his movements, as he slowly works Sakusa deeper and deeper into his mouth. 

Sakusa grits his teeth in an effort to stay silent, swallowing down the noises forming in his chest with the same determination as Atsumu swallowing his cock. His hands at his sides grip the bedding, knuckles quickly whitening. He hits the back of Atsumu’s throat, the blond’s nose pressed into his pubic hair, his entire cock surrounded by the warm, wet heat and Atsumu doesn’t choke, doesn’t gag, just hums contently and looks up at him through his eyelashes with those heavily lidded eyes. Sakusa can’t hold back his groan, hips twitching. He’s fighting the urge to stand up so he can thrust into Atsumu’s mouth, fuck his throat until he’s choking on his cock, test the apparent lack of gag reflex. And then he realizes, he doesn’t have to fight it. Atsumu is here to cater to every fantasy he has, to fulfill all his desires. Sakusa smiles darkly underneath his mask, fingers twisting in Atsumu’s hair to pull him off his cock. 

“Had enough already?” Atsumu teases as Sakusa stands.

Sakusa doesn’t respond, just uses his grip on Atsumu’s hair to tug him back onto his cock; he presses against Atsumu’s lips and Atsumu opens his mouth, letting Sakusa slide into him again. Sakusa starts slowly, dragging his length nearly entirely out of Atsumu’s mouth before sliding back in with the same measured pace. Atsumu isn’t struggling at all, even when the head of Sakusa’s cock hits the back of his throat; he really is good at this. Atsumu’s bound hands reach up, cupping his balls, gloved fingers rubbing small circles into tender flesh. Sakusa hisses, pushing deeper into Atsumu’s throat. His eyes are watering, cheeks flushed, but he continues to just take it, letting Sakusa use his throat while looking up at him with heavily lidded eyes, lashes wet with unspilled tears. 

Reluctantly, Sakusa drags himself from Atsumu’s mouth, the resistance provided by Atsumu’s suction drawing a low groan from his chest. He has bigger plans for tonight, far bigger than coming from a damn blowjob, even if it is the best blowjob he’s ever received. Atsumu’s head follows, mouth chasing after Sakusa’s cock. “You’re so hungry for it, aren’t you? So eager for me. You want me to keep fucking your throat, don’t you?”

Atsumu groans, bound hands falling to his lap to rub at his cock; it's hard and straining against his trousers, tenting them. He’s beautiful like this. Sakusa pulls the condom off, uncharacteristically letting it drop to the floor, and tucks himself back into his trouser and Atsumu fucking whimpers, as if the disappearance of Sakusa’s cock is paining him. It’s nearly enough for Sakusa to abandon his fantasy of bending the blond in half and filling his ass. Nearly enough for him to take himself back out of his slacks and just finish in Atsumu’s talented mouth. Nearly enough… but not quite. 

“Greedy, aren’t you?” His voice is not as level as he would like, but it’s difficult to keep his composure as he watches Atsumu clumsily stroke himself with bound hands through his trousers because he’s just that desperate for some friction. 

“Ya like it, don’t ya, Sakusa-san? Ya like how worked up I am. Ya want me to beg for it?” 

Sakusa decides that yes, he would like that a lot. “You can try,” he encourages. Please try. 

“Dunno if I’m that desperate yet.” It’s a front, Sakusa can tell by the way Atsumu’s hands are still moving in his lap. Determined, he reaches down to hook his fingers through the tie, pulling Atsumu’s hands from his crotch. His hips twitch, chasing the contact, and Sakusa stares intently, desperate to memorize the look in Atsumu’s eyes as he pleads. “Fuck,” Atsumu groans, closing his eyes as he tries to steady himself. He takes several deep breaths, and Sakusa is almost afraid he won’t do it, but when his eyes flick back open they meet Sakusa’s stare with a softness that wasn’t there before. 

“Please, Sakusa-san. I can’t take it anymore. I need ya. Need ya to touch me. Please.” Atsumu’s voice is low and gravely, just a brush of rough air hanging in the room. Sakusa will never forget it. 

“Get up,” he instructs, as he tugs Atsumu up by the wrists. “On the bed.” Atsumu falls back onto the mattress and he’s such a pretty picture, all flushed and squirming. 

“Can’t wait to feel ya. Want ya to split me open on yer cock.” 

“Fuck,” Sakusa spits, leaning down to undo Atsumu’s belt and unbutton and unzip his pants. He tries to pull them and his boxer briefs down in one swoop, but they get caught on the ample curve of Atsumu’s ass. Atsumu plants his feet to lift himself up, allowing Sakusa to pull the garments down to his knees. Atsumu groans as the fabric drags against his cock, falling back onto the bed. Sakusa gets the clothes the rest of the way off, dropping them to the floor–now is not the time to be concerned with folding. Atsumu is laid bare and Sakusa takes a moment to take him in. Fuck his thighs are thick. Sakusa wants to taste them. Bite them. Mark them. 

Atsumu meets his gaze, and his look is famished. Desperate. Pleading. “Please, Sakusa-san.” 

“Do you treat everyone like this?” Sakusa’s voice hitches slightly, so affected by the scene before him. 

Atsumu just brings his bound hands back to his ruddy cock in response, clumsily handling it. He keeps Sakusa’s gaze as he strokes himself, low grumbles tumbling from his chest as he manages to find a rhythm despite his bound wrists. 

Sakusa tears his eyes away from the blond to walk over to the bedside table and grabs the lube. He climbs back onto the bed, quickly coating his fingers with the slick fluid. He settles between Atsumu’s thighs, black slacks contrasting with tanned skin. He likes this, the dichotomy of the naked man before him with his clothed state. There’s something undeniably alluring about the power dynamic it creates. Atsumu is laid bare before him, every part of him exposed for Sakusa’s consumption. He wants to devour him. “You’re so desperate for me, I’m surprised you can even work as an escort.”

“I’m a good actor,” Atsumu grunts, but his hips are stuttering and his chest is flushed in contrast with his statement. 

“Not this good, I’m sure.” Sakusa presses his index finger against Atsumu’s rim, watching the other man twitch towards the pressure. His thighs are spread wide as Sakusa traces around the puffy muscle, touch light and teasing. Then, he sinks all the way inside Atsumu without preamble, going as deep as the length of his finger allows in an instant. Atsumu is so tight and hot around his finger, and every thrust draws a shudder from the blond. 

Sakusa works him at a relentless pace, but only with one finger, avoiding the bundle of nerves he knows Atsumu is desperate for him to touch. “More,” Atsumu pleads. 

“I’ll only give you another if you stop touching yourself.” Sakusa curls his finger to finally hit Atsumu’s prostate in punctuation. 

Atsumu’s hips buckle deeper into Sakusa’s touch as he whines, but his hands fall to his chest. “Ya want me to suffer or somethin’?” 

“I did promise to ruin you.” Sakusa pushes past the ringed muscle with his middle finger, immediately sinking deep into Atsumu’s heat. “You’re not ruined enough… yet.” 

“Nghh Sakusa-san,” Atsumu moans with the addition of a second finger, cock leaking against his stomach. 

There are treacherous moments of the lewd sounds of Sakusa’s fingers thrusting in and out of Atsumu, squelching with every lube slicked movement, of Atsumu’s moans and whines and broken gasps, of Sakusa’s own heavy breathing, panting as his already hard cock strains against its bindings, wanting nothing more than the tight wet heat before it. He watches Atsumu’s hole stretch around his fingers before his eyes settle back to his thighs and the overwhelming longing to suck and bite bruises into them makes his mouth water. They’d just look so good, marked with the shape of his lips. His teeth. Instead, he brings a hand down, slapping Atsumu’s thigh, the sound of flesh against flesh and the stinging in his palm almost making up for his inability to mouth those thighs. Almost. The red mark of his hand on Atsumu’s thigh is fleeting, but it still fills him with a perverse satisfaction. It’s his hand. 

Atsumu whines, clenching around Sakusa’s fingers. Sakusa takes the opportunity to curl his fingers again, working the blond’s prostate until he’s arching off the bed, choking on his own breath. When Sakusa slows his pace, Atsumu finally manages to say, “Ya haven't paid for that, Sakusa-san.” 

He smirks behind his mask, sliding another finger past the tight muscle, finally stretching Atsumu with three long fingers. The man groans. “My hands are a little busy, Atsumu. I promise you I’m good for it. Unless you’d rather I stop what I’m doing right now.” Sakusa twists within Atsumu, once again targeting his prostate, all but ensuring that Atsumu won’t demand the money now. 

“Ya better be,” he manages between moans. 

Sakusa works him with three fingers, stretching his hole wide, reaching down to lightly stroke the tips of his fingers up and down the length of Atsumu’s ignored cock. He debates adding a fourth, but decides he’d rather the additional feeling of Atsumu stretching around his cock when he finally fucks him. Atsumu is panting, writhing, flushed and sweat-slicked before him and he looks like a fucking fantasy. 

“M’ready,” Atsumu insists. “M’ready for ya. Please.”

Sakusa pulls his fingers out slowly, discarding the dirty glove onto the floor and slipping another on from his pocket. He’s ready to give in. To pull himself from his trousers, roll on a condom, and pound into the man before him. So ready it hurts. 

But then a tantalizing idea crosses his mind.

“My cock or the money, ‘Tsumu,” the nickname rolls off his tongue. “If I made you choose, what would it be? I’ll leave now and you can keep everything, or I’ll stay and fuck you like you deserve, but you won’t make a penny.” And Sakusa has no intention of shorting this man, he just wants to hear Atsumu admit that he wants him more than the money. That there’s more to this encounter than the contract between them. Sakusa desperately wants to be more than Atsumu’s other clients. Different. Better. 

Atsumu trembles, seeking the contact Sakusa has denied him. His hands move downward, but Sakusa catches them so Atsumu can’t touch himself. “Yer mean,” he gasps. 

“It’s a simple question, Atsumu.” He maintains the facade. 

“The agency,” the blond slurs, eyes wet, hips flexing as he chases some sort of feeling. Sakusa just tightens his grip on Atsumu’s bound wrists. 

“Tsk,” Sakusa tuts softly. “This isn’t about them, Atsumu. This is about you and me. What do you want more: for me to fuck you, or pay you?” The question hangs heavy in the air for a moment, room silent other than their slightly ragged breaths. 

“Atsumu?” Sakusa urges. 

Atsumu groans and it’s decidedly different from the other noises he’s made this evening, this one born from frustration rather than pleasure. His voice is softer when he finally responds, turning his face away from Sakusa, trying to bury it in the sheets as if he’s hiding, embarrassed by his answer. “I want ya, Sakusa-san. More than the money. Want ya to fuck me.”

Sakusa releases Atsumu’s wrists and stretches up, reaching across the bed. “Good boy,” he purrs, dropping another couple bands of cash onto the bedside table. “For letting me spank you. And a little extra for your… candor.”

Atsumu furrows his brow, confusion edging out the desperation in his face. “I thought–”

“I was always going to pay you, Atsumu. And I was always going to fuck you. I was just… curious.” 

“That’s mean, Sakusa-san,” Atsumu admonishes, but the heat in his eyes is far from genuine anger or irritation.

“Maybe,” Sakusa admits. “But I really wanted to know how badly you want me.” He’s back between Atsumu’s thighs, and he makes sure to make eye contact with the man before him as he takes his cock out of his slacks for the second time this evening. With nimble fingers he tears open the condom packet, sliding it down his length. 

Atsumu looks so good like this, taut abdomen and shaped pecs trembling with his shaky breaths, but when Sakusa thinks of the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his back, the swell of his ass, he realizes he wants to watch himself sink into Atsumu from behind. “Hands and knees,” he instructs, and Atsumu is quick to reorient himself on the bed. 

“You make a pretty picture like this,” Sakusa whispers, running his hands down the length of Atsumu’s spine, across his ass, down his thighs. Sakusa lines himself up, tip of his cock pressed against Atsumu’s rim. “I’m sure you’ll be even prettier once you’re crying,” he promises, and then sinks into Atsumu fully, wasting no time with a slow, gradual movement. Atsumu keens, chest dropping down as his back arches into the contact and Sakusa can’t fully swallow the low grunt coming from his chest; Atsumu is so tight around him, almost unbearably so, and the wet heat of his walls clenching Sakusa’s cock just borders on suffocating. He pauses for a moment, allowing them both several breaths to acclimate. 

It isn’t long before Atsumu is whining softly, grinding his hips back into Sakusa, rocking slowly to fuck himself on Sakusa’s cock. “Sakusa-san, please.” Any previous aversion Atsumu had to begging has long since vanished. 

Sakusa takes a steadying breath, hoping to keep his voice level. “So greedy for me, aren’t you Atsumu?” He grips Atsumu’s hips tight enough to bruise–and silently hopes he does leave the shape of his fingers in shades of purple against tanned skin–and drags himself slowly, so damn slowly, from Atsumu. It’s torturous for Sakusa, but he knows it’s equally, if not more so for Atsumu, so he continues to pull out of Atsumu as languidly as possible.

“More,” Atsumu pleads, hips twitching in Sakusa’s grip, trying to increase the pace. Sakusa holds him still. 

“You’re so inpatient,” he teases. “So sure that you can take more. You’re going to keep begging for more until I break you, aren’t you?” 

“Then break me.” 

Sakusa slams back into Atsumu with enough force that the slap of his hips meeting Atsumu’s ass echoes through the hotel room. Atsumu’s moan is long, drawn out, pitchy. Sakusa’s is a low rumble, deep in his chest as he continues to work in and out of Atsumu at a punishing pace. He looks down, watching the sight of his cock disappearing into Atsumu’s hole repeatedly with perverse satisfaction. “Taking me so well,” he chokes. 

Atsumu’s words are distorted by heavy breaths and unswallowed moans; Sakusa is unsure of exactly what was said, all he knows is that it contained the word big. He tries not to feel too pleased by that. Sakusa strokes one of Atsumu’s cheeks before bringing his palm down with a loud smack, watching the skin redden under his touch, feeling the way Atsumu clenched around him at the impact, listening to the way Atsumu whined as pain mixed with pleasure. 

He changes the angle of his thrusts, rolling his hips to target Atsumu’s prostate and when he hits it, Atsumu drops off his forearms, chest against the mattress, jaw agape as he howls at the contact. “Nghhh, right there,” he manages, as if it weren’t already clear how overwhelming the pleasure he’s experiencing is. He’s drooling into the linens, eyes wet and he looks so disheveled, so unhinged, so… ruined. 

Sakusa can still do better. 

There’s no shape to the noises tumbling from Atsumu’s open mouth, no movement of his lips to give them coherency. It’s loud, feral… nearly animalistic and Sakusa finds he no longer has to worry about trying to keep his own responses quiet; Atsumu is drowning them all out. Part of him hopes that the hotel walls are thick, afraid of anyone hearing the sounds he’s pulling from Atsumu. Another wants the entire world to hear them. Hear Atsumu and know that it was Sakusa that brought him to this state. He wants their jealousy, their envy, their yearning. He gives Atsumu’s ass another couple slaps, relishing in the way it changes the pitch of Atsumu’s noises; Sakusa is the conductor of this symphony of sin. “So fucking loud,” he grits. “Bet you like that, don’t you? Thinking about people hearing you. People listening–fuck–to you from the other side of this wall, fantasizing that they’re the one drawing this depravity out of you. But they aren’t. I am. And no one else has ever fucked you like this, have they ‘Tsumu. And no one else will ever fuck you like I do, will they ‘Tsumu?” 

Atsumu groans in response, tightening around Sakusa with every filthy word he utters, but it’s not enough. Once again, Sakusa wants the confirmation that he’s different. Special. Better. He’s not normally like this, so vindictive, but something about Atsumu makes him want to possess the blond entirely. To own him for more than just tonight. So he asks again, this time ending the question with a slap to Atsumu’s ass and a pause of his hips. 

“Jus’ ya,” Atsumu slurs into the sheets, wet with his tears and drool. “No one else, jus’ ya, Sakusa-san.” 

Sakusa fucks him harder for his admission, the words washing over him, filling him, spurring him on. “So good for me,” he croons. “Not like this for anyone else, it’s all for me.” His pace is brutal, but all he wants is to fuck Atsumu harder, so hard he’ll be impossible to forget. 

Atsumu whimpers his agreement, trembling on shaky thighs as he tries to match Sakusa’s aggressive thrusts; their rhythms are mismatched but it doesn’t matter, it’s desperate friction of Sakusa’s cock against Atsumu’s walls, his hips against his ass, his hands around his thighs. 

Sakusa wants to see Atsumu’s ruin. To watch the look on his face as he finally shatters around Sakusa, breaks into so many pieces he’ll be marked by this moment, by Sakusa forever. He pulls out and Atsumu cries out, collapsing onto the bed, grinding his hips, rutting his cock against the sheets. 

“So desperate.” The blond man is practically boneless before him, and Sakusa flips him easily, gripping his hips and arranging the lax limbs as he sees fit. “Your ass is going to remember the shape of my cock,” he swears as he sinks back into Atsumu. 

He has the blond bent in half, legs hitched over his head–he’s flexible, though not as flexible as Sakusa–so he’s dropping down into him, gravity aiding every trust of his hips, his balls slapping against Atsumu’s ass. The noises are delicious; Atsumu is moaning wantonly, the high note to the deep rhythm of flesh against flesh. It won’t be long now, for either of them, judging from the way Atsumu is clenching around him, muscles rolling deliciously around his cock. With their position, Sakusa needs both hands to stabilize the height of Atsumu’s hips; he can’t reach down to stroke the blond’s cock in time with his trusts. It doesn’t matter anyway, he’s determined to make him come untouched. From his cock alone. Sakusa is panting; it’s not easy, keeping up his punishing pace, rolling his hips just right, while supporting the weight of Atsumu’s lower body, but it’s so worth it to see him like this. Feel him like this. 

“Ohhh– Ohmmm–,” is Atsumu’s drawn out chant, nonsensical. Broken. His eyes are twisted shut, face red and wet, cheeks slicked with tear tracks, lips shining with drool and Sakusa feels content; he’d sworn to ruin Atsumu, and he had. With a final targeted thrust, Atsumu’s eyes fly open, glistening and his mouth opens in a silent scream before he’s clenching around Sakusa, cock spilling onto his neck, his chin, painting his plush lips with white. And Sakusa is relentless, not slowing as he fucks Atsumu through his release until he’s utterly boneless. 

It’s not long after that, a few quick thrusts before Sakusa’s own hips are stuttering out of rhythm and he’s shooting into the condom, into Atsumu, grunting in his own pleasure. His skin is sticky under his clothes, shirt wrinkled as he tries not to collapse onto Atsumu. With shaky movements, he pulls out of Atsumu, tying off the condom and dropping it on the floor. “You were so good, Atsumu,” his voice is no more than a whisper and he’s yet to fully catch his breath. “So good.” 

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out another band of yen and drops it onto the pile. Atsumu doesn’t seem to notice, so lost in the aftermath of his own pleasure that he seems barely conscious. Sakusa stands from the bed, pulling off his gloves and unhooking his mask. He walks to the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and returning to Atsumu, whose eyes are still closed and breathing unsteady. With tender movements, he cleans Atsumu’s face off before pressing a loving kiss into the blond’s forehead. 

“Omi-kun?” Atsumu’s eyes don’t open, but a small smile spreads across his lips. 

“I’m here,” Sakusa promises. “Just rest.”

***

It takes Atsumu several moments to regain some level of cognizance after everything that had happened. He’s weakly aware of Omi cleaning him up, kissing him, as he’s floating in a state of bliss. When he regains the ability to process his surroundings, Atsumu’s eyes widen when he finally notices the pile of cash on the nightstand. Honestly he can’t even count it. He knew Kiyoomi had been adding to the pile throughout their encounter but he never imagined this much money. Honestly, it’s probably the most cash he’s ever seen in real life, and that’s not even including the initial stack on the desk. The grin on his face stretches ear to ear. “Aww Omi, ya think I’m worth that much? I must be the best paid escort in all of Japan.” 

Kiyooni bristles slightly, rolling his eyes at Atsumu; he’s like a cat who’s gotten into the cream, but more unbearable. “Well, you told me to make you feel expensive. You think I have experience with how much an escort costs?” 

Atsumu reaches out, ruffling through the bands of cash, trying to gauge how much it actually is. He turns back to Kiyoomi, fixing his face into what he hopes is an adorably pleading expression. “Can I keep it, Omi?”

Kiyoomi furrows his brow, confusion and frustration written into the lines of his face. “Atsumu, we’re married. I took this out of our joint checking account. It’s already yours, at least partially.” 

Atsumu pouts. “But Omiiiiii.” 

“You can take it all back to the bank.” His nose crinkles as he imagines touching the cash again; it’s just so filthy. “I can’t believe I had to touch all that money for your fucking ego. Do you know how dirty cash is?” 

Atsumu just snorts. “I know you sprayed it all down with disinfectant. And ran it all through that little UV-sterilizer you have,” Atsumu teases. Still, he grabs the sanitizer from the bedside table and coats his hands. He places a light kiss on his husband’s lips, just a gentle brush of soft skin, before curling up on his chest. “Thanks for indulging me Omi.” 

Kiyoomi wraps one arm around his husband’s waist, the other hand reaching up to comb through his hair. “It was actually pretty fun,” he admits softly.

Atsumu burrows his face further into Kiyoomi’s chest. “Love you,” he murmurs into his skin. 

“I love you, too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this horny brain rot with a soft twist ending. Would love to hear your thoughts about it here, or you can find me on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/beefyboihinata?s=21)


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